


I Can Feel Your Breath I Can Feel My Death

by snailthesaints (orphan_account)



Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blindness, Eye Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Needles, Prison, Psychological Torture, Sensory Deprivation, Sensuality, Torture, Tragic Romance, i feel like my definition of mild gore is not the same as others, im rlly bad @ tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/snailthesaints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BL/Ind took them one by one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Feel Your Breath I Can Feel My Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angeliclogan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeliclogan/gifts).



> posting w out preview bc Mikey way's doing q+a soz
> 
> EDIT MAY 2K16:  
> im sorry i never uploaded part 2 i don't rlly feel comfortable anymore and i also feel like my writing has developed a lot in the past 6months so having this on my profile makes me a bit :// so i'm gonna gift it to blurryalien for the amazing follow up they did and then orphan, thank u for reading <3

BL/ind took them one by one.  
I used to be a rebel, a killjoy, I would drive through the zones in my beat up car, wind blowing through my bright red hair like I was living a fucking action movie. Hell, bits of sand blew up into my eyes and the Californian heat meant sweat was running down my neck barely a moment after leaving our gas station hideout - taking most of my hair dye out with it. But fuck, it was perfect. I was the most wanted rebel in the zone. I was living on a knife edge, calculating my every movement, constantly being hunted by dracs but I was free, truly alive for the first time in years.  
And then I got caught. Now, because I refused to take the pills that stop you feeling emotions, I’m sentenced to an eternity of feeling nothing at all.  
When I first got here, I was like a celebrity. I clearly remember being marched down the hallway, past rows and rows of inmates, every one of them gawping at me. The guys here tend to be split into two groups: the rebels and the rapists. The rapists seem to form their own twisted gang, I guess because even here in jail everyone treats them like the shitstains they are. And the rebels are more of a community. Out in the zones, everyone knows everyone through someone and I’m somehow almost infamous.  
I tried to keep my head up as I walked, I really did, but inside I had already accepted defeat. Even though nobody had said the name ‘Party Poison’, my hair made me instantly recognizable. Inmates cheered, booed, whispered, hurled insults and yelled encouragements as I was forcefully chucked into my cell.  
I share with Frank. Fun Ghoul actually, but killjoy names are banned in here, we’re just plain old Frank and Gerard. Plus when you’re rotting in a cell, you don't feel much like a killjoy anyway.  
That first night, I was falling apart. I stormed in and lay staring at the ceiling before he came over to try and talk to me. He said he thought my comics were kickass and I said - far too defensively - that that was lucky because if he didn't piss off I'd be spending my time here engraving them into his skin. To which he replied I wouldn't have to because he’s already covered head to foot in tattoos and I think I fell in love right there. The rest of the night was spent with him showing me each one and me gushing over the artistry like a complete fucking dork. I didn't really care though, it was a welcome distraction from the crushing terror and hopelessness I was feeling.  
The next day was my trial.  
I can still visualise it, my mom, my dad, my nan, my little brother Mikey, the whole family watching as I stood handcuffed in court. I remember Mikey’s shocked expression as the judge read out my sentence. I spent a moment caught in the heartache of seeing my brother like this before the words sunk in. S&CF. The worst known legal punishment. Sensory and Communicatory Forfeiture.  
The next morning they took my voice. I’ve always been terrified of needles and that morning I was given the first real reason. They took me into a separate room, tying tight restraints around my wrists and ankles and strapping me to a bed. I screamed when I saw the needle, not in protest but in pure fear. I kept screaming as one of the officers pulled my jaw wide open and although muffled and gagging I continued as the syringe was shoved down my throat. And then as he injected the fluid somewhere deep inside, the room fell silent, my voice box rendered useless.  
I tried to say something, just make noise but only air came out, not even able to form a whisper.  
As I was marched back to my cell I knew everyone knew what had happened, many of the previously adoring looks became looks of pity. Rumour has it the cells nearest the end could hear my screams being silenced and it wouldn't surprise me.  
Frank immediately rushed over as I slumped in the corner. He asked what they did and as I sat unable to reply he soon figured it out. Thoughts and emotions came flooding in, and despite my apparently hard exterior I broke down. I sobbed because I knew I'd never sing again, I’d never chat on the phone, I’d never be able to say the words ‘I Love You’. I tried to scream, but other than my shuddering breathing it was just silence. I spent hours leant into Frank crying like a fucking five year old that morning.  
Over the next few weeks we grew close. We formed a makeshift sign language to communicate, pairing it with messages scratched onto the acrylic wall and not long after ‘Are we official then?’ joined my etchings.  
For a month or so Frank and I’s relationship made me happier than I ever imagined I could be as a mute 30 year old in prison. It doesn't take much effort hiding it from the guards, they only come this far down the corridor if they have to and most of the inmates egged us on.  
And then they took my sight.  
Once again I was pulled out my cell - to more gasps from the inmates. I tried to look feisty but I knew a sense was going and I just wanted it over with, praying it’d be smell or taste or something I didn't give a shit about.  
I almost threw up when I saw the two needles as they strapped me down, just like before. And then two metal contraptions pinned my eyelids open - clockwork orange style shit. My entire world imploded as I realised the sense I was losing. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I banged my hands on the table, trying to mouth ‘no’, silently begging for mercy. They took their time, watching me, almost enjoying it as I thrashed about in a state of panic. I was forced to watch as the silver glint of the needle entered my vision, the officer grinning devilishly above me. I watched horrified as it grew closer, losing focus until I felt my left eye sting as it made contact, my eyelids yanking at the metal. For a moment nothing happened and I almost wondered if it hadn’t worked until a sudden intense burning sensation became blackness, clouding my blurred vision from the inside out.  
Then they repeated on the right eye, I tried to just zone out but I couldn’t help but silently wail as I looked up at the bright lights, the last thing I saw before my remaining sight clouded over and I was plunged into darkness.  
I was pulled down the hallway, blind and this time completely broken. I could hear the people once again but I barely acknowledged them. I just closed my eyes, not knowing what they look like, shaking and crushed by the shame of the mess I’d become, how easily they’d broken me and prayed we weren't far from mine and Frank’s cell.  
Eventually we stopped and I felt myself being pushed sideways and heard the clang of the metal gate behind me. Completely lost and disorientated, I edged sideways until I felt the cold metal bars and slid down them, bringing my knees to my chest and hiding my face best I could.  
I heard Frank’s footsteps run over, I was less ashamed around him as I felt his hand round my shoulder, whispering comforts and ranting about how disgusting it is they could do this, as well as something about Dr Death avenging me. I didn't give a single shit about that, just buried my head in his shoulder, breathing in his scent and crying. I would never see his gorgeous eyes again, never be able to draw again, doomed to an eternity of darkness.  
It was a while before they took another but some of the months in between were the toughest of my life.  
I spent what seemed like weeks laying in my own world, barely moving to eat or drink, listening to Frank ramble. I tried to communicate back, gesturing here and there but it's hard when you can't see where the hell your hands are going.  
I was fucking scared and fucking angry. Until then I had never considered myself the type of person to feel much of either however at that point I spent most of my time having panic attacks or punching the walls.  
It was hell and I thought it would never end, but although it hasn't, I started to adjust. I put more effort into communication, roughly gesturing things, tracing letters on Frank's hand, feeling all the notes previously scratched on the wall and tapping any relevant.  
Frank told me about how he had received messages from Dr D - fuck knows how - telling me half the zones had heard about my state and most of them were already conspiring to get me out and get me fixed.  
I know it's impossible and any hope is futile though, I just gotta wait until I’m released in 30 years, BL/ind are overthrown or maybe I get out early for good behavior. How I’d survive out there is a whole other story but at least I’d breathe fresh air.  
Despite the harsh reality, it was nice hearing the killjoys’ and Frank’s stories, as well as some of Frank’s little songs and poems. It reignited a spark inside me that had been really fucking dampened and I even found myself silently laughing and playing with Frank, somehow bouncing back.  
And then about a year later, just as I was becoming somewhat ‘okay’, they took my taste. That in itself wasn't the worst thing, but how they went about it was brutal.  
I heard the gate open with a clank, felt gruff hands pull me out my cell and heard Frank let out a yelp of shock from his bed. Just like before I knew what was coming, barely even praying they took taste or smell because by that point I relied on them almost as much as sound or touch.  
I assumed I was being taken into the same room as before and sure enough soon felt the all too familiar restraints round my wrists and ankles. I could hear my heart pounding as I lay there, I didn't know what sense was going and I couldn't see the needles and somehow it was the tension of not knowing that got to me the most. I noted the smell of cheese and onion as I felt someone's breath on me, and I could hear at least two other people in the room.  
And suddenly, my jaw was pulled open. For a moment I felt a spark of hope that they were giving me my voice back, if that’s even possible. Something cold and metallic tasting was placed in my mouth before I felt the worst pain I’ve felt in my life.  
It started from the side of the base of my tongue but spread out in seconds, leaving me a writhing mess. Blood filled my mouth, the metallic taste instantly recognizable. And then I realised what was happening. They were cutting off my tongue.  
I couldn't understand why, it’s not like I could talk. But I couldn't even form thoughts, the pain overwhelming. It seemed to last an eternity, it was like they were deliberately drawing out the pain to watch me suffer, it was twisted and torturous and I wanted to fucking die.  
Finally after about 5 minutes of agony, with a sickening pull, it came free and my mouth became terrifyingly empty.  
I gagged as blood pooled in parts of my mouth, unable to deal with it with my tongue like normal.  
Then I felt more pain, sharper that time. At first, I was terrified but I soon realised they were just stitching up whatever the fuck was left.  
At last, they tore off the restraints, cuffing me and pulling me upright. I could feel obscene strings of fuck knows what fluid flowing from my mouth as I leaned over, crying, nausea making me shake and sweat all over.  
Suddenly my head was yanked backward, and a warm tasteless liquid sloshed down my throat, making me cough and splutter as I inhaled more than swallowed.  
They pulled me back down the corridor, I managed to wipe my mouth but had to focus on keeping the contents of my stomach in my stomach.  
Frank's voice was like music to my ears when I heard it. His footsteps rushed over and he wrapped his hands round me but I shook him off, spitting out the saliva building in my mouth and staggering towards the toilet. I hadn't quite reached it when my stomach lurched and warm vomit rushed up my throat and expelled from my mouth.  
It took a moment before I realised I hadn't tasted it, I could smell it and feel the burn at the back of my mouth but everything was completely tasteless.  
As Frank stroked my hair, comforting me he soon realized what they had done. I didn't cry into him this time, instead just paced back and forth, running my hand along the wall, spitting out the building saliva now and then, tuning out the agonising ache in my mouth.  
I had some daily protein shake instead of regular meals from that day on, though for weeks more ended up in my lungs than stomach.  
They took my hearing no more than a month later. According to Frank, a suspicious amount of officers had come down with various forms of throat infections, infected mouth ulcers and one even went blind in one eye. Of course, I felt the brunt of the killjoys ‘revenge’.  
I was taken into the same room, I knew the drill by that point, allowing myself to be restrained as usual. It was either touch, hearing or smell going. I hoped for smell but knew it’d be hearing.  
2 injections and my world fell silent.  
I was blissfully ignorant on my walk of shame back along the corridor, but being thrown back in my cell and not hearing Frank ripped my heart in two.  
I felt his arms snake around me, and I curled up into his chest, breaking down all over again as he stroked my hair. I was already going insane, reality becoming more and more distant. The only things keeping me grounded were his scent and his touch and when he got up to take a piss I had a panic attack.  
I never really bounced back like I did before, just altered my behavior slightly for practical reasons and became increasingly numb to emotions. Frank traced the phrase ‘I love you’ across my skin hundreds of times and I did trace shit back, telling him same. However without the little sounds of him humming as he changed or the rambles as I lay in his lap, I slipped further into my own mind.  
And then my sense of smell went too.  
Much the same as the other times but with needles up my nose instead.  
As I landed in Frank's arms again, I was pretty much a half rotten pile of flesh and I’d given up caring.  
I spent weeks banging my head against the walls of the cell, yanking out clumps of my own hair. It was relentless, they build you up then knock you down. I understood their order now, they trick you into relying on your other senses only to pull them from underneath you.  
Franks breath on my neck, chapped lips on mine, fingers gliding across my skin is the only thing keeping me sane.  
And tomorrow, just like the rest, it’ll be gone too. Frank had received some message from someone that they were taking one and touch is the only thing left to take.  
I can’t imagine how they’ll go about it but that’s what they do.  
They take everything. All the entrances to reality. Then leave you to rot inside your own mind until your ticker stops after a few decades and the ordeal finally ends.  
That's the real torture, the psychological torture. No amount of needles or acids or tongue removal procedures have anything on the torture of the inside of your skull. Your brain just stews in it's juices. Days become one and that one stretches on for eternity. Your only reality becomes your train of thought until it runs off it’s tracks and you lose your mind altogether. Trapped with the voices in your head. And there's nothing you can do about it.  
I’m terrified.  
Knowing me, I should be.


End file.
